Avenging Angel
by general zero
Summary: The Avengers' worldwide renown is nothing compared to the adulation held for them by insignificant teenager Diane. But Diane is far more important than anyone realizes, and as both her wildest dreams and deepest nightmares come true, she struggles to answer a question: Is it worth it to be a hero? [teamfic, OC-insert, Gen, Not AoU compliant]
1. Chapter 1--Indiscretions in NYC

**Hiya! This is a OC-insert 'sequel' to Avengers Assemble I wrote long ago. It was my first fic, and I am publishing it for sentimental satisfaction. Truthfully, I don't think it's that bad for my first time. Not complete, although I have the entire synopsis written out. Will post that pending interest. Possibly up for adoption.**

 **Rated for light swearing and canon typical violence.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not claim any creative credit for Marvel's genius.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Ordinary Girl**

" _Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day."_

 _-Charles Dickens, Great Expectations._

"And what's this?" Jenna Wright called from the bathroom. She was wrapped in a towel, pointing at her backside.

Di sighed, sorely tempted, but the angel on her shoulder won out. "Gluteus maximus." Before her mom could move on to the next muscle, Di went on: "Mom, we're on vacation; I don't need to study."

"Then why'd you fail the test the first time? Anatomy's a pretty easy class, Diane."

Di shrugged, unwilling to reveal that she had fallen asleep in the middle of the test. That would just provoke even more complicated questions. She returned to slurping her cereal and turned the TV on. CNN announced briefly that the Avengers' appearance in Central Park would be covered live in an hour before moving on to the Middle Eastern oil crisis. Diane drew a quick breath—the hotel wasn't far from the park. "Mom! Can I go see the Avengers?"

Her mother's face never turned away from the mirror as she applied her makeup. "Who?"

"The Avengers, Mom. You know, the people who saved the world six months ago? They're going to be in Central Park today."

"I know who the Avengers are, darling. I thought you and I were going to the spa. Girl time, right?"

Diane suppressed the urge to whine. She was _not_ interested in girl time. "Can't you go alone?"

Her mother moved from makeup to hair with infuriating disinterest. "Then who would take you to the park? Who would watch you?"

"Central Park is right outside our window. You'll be in the hotel spa; I'll be across the street. What could happen? Besides, if you let me go now and get a good spot I won't even be fifty feet away from the Avengers. The _Avengers,_ Mom. All I'll have to do is scream and get rescued."

Her mother looked away from the mirror to Diane. "What's so important about seeing the Avengers? You've seen them on TV millions of times. It's impossible to watch anything else in our house."

"This is different. They'll be there, and I'll be there, and"

"—and you won't even get to talk to them. They'll just be faces, the same ones on TV."

It was no use reasoning with her mother. Di had never won an argument with her on her own merit. It was time to play dirty. "Pleeeeeaaaase, Mommy?"

Her mother frowned, and Di knew she'd made the right move. Her mother had always resented Di's choice to start calling her Mom instead in Mommy in seventh grade, and Di occasionally used it to her advantage now.

"You are a wicked child, Diane. Go have fun. But be careful! This is New York, after all…"

Diane squealed and gave her mother a hug. Barely remembering to grab her things, Diane sloshed the rest of her cereal down the mini sink and scooted out into the hall. Diane skipped down the hall, her toes barely touching the ground. It was all she could do not to jump right into the air. Diane had loved the Avengers even before they had been Avengers. She was constantly tuned into CNN, watching Ironman, Captain America and the others. They were so exciting—so amazing—and they always knew what to do. Then, a year ago, something happened to make Diane treasure the Avengers even more.

Di had always loved to go fast. She was unusually partial to racecars for a girl, and ran for the track team at every school she'd ever attended, although never coming in first. It was while trying to break her second-place streak in tenth grade that Di discovered she could fly. She had been practicing alone after school: running, straining forward with all of her might, her feet touching the ground less and less, when suddenly her direction changed from straight to slant and she was seven or eight feet in the air.

Ever since, Diane had been addicted to flying. At first, she crashed a lot, and it took many long nights of sneaking out to practice to get used to it. Soon enough, though, the hardest part was _not_ flying, not letting on to her parents or friends that she had inexplicably obtained a superpower (and not falling asleep in class after a night's flying). There was no question that it had to be a secret. In a way Di relished the keeping of it; it made her feel special. Special like the Avengers. Before, Di had always watched them from afar in her living room; now she wanted to see them up close. The ceremony in Central Park would be just the right chance.

Di arrived at the park—across the street from the hotel—to find it already crowded with eager spectators. There were too many eyes for her original plan: "climb" a tree only fifty feet away from the platform where the governor of New York would publicly thank the Avengers—officially declaring the state's approval of the superhero team. The political issues didn't worry Di at the moment; she just wanted a seat. Favoring height over proximity, Di settled for sneaking onto the top of a merry-go-round about half a block from the platform. She hoped no one would see her and wonder how she got up there.

The hour until the Avengers showed passed slowly. The sun was out, frying the metal roof of the merry-go-round, and the crowds settled restlessly on benches and picnic blankets. Finally the governor began speaking, and the crowds hushed in anticipation. Di found that she was perched above the range of the many speakers scattered around, and couldn't hear a word. She wasn't interested in the governor's speech, but if the Avengers said anything when they arrived, she didn't want to miss it. Di was just considering a discreet move to a closer spot that she had noticed when the crowd began to cheer. Di scrambled over to the side everyone was looking, and practically hung off the edge of the roof, straining to see.

A convertible was purring down the avenue adjacent to Central Park. The Avengers were inside. Di forced down the squeal of excitement in her chest—she didn't want to look like the stupid fan-girls at her high school, screaming whenever Tony Stark was on the television. The car pulled down to the far end of the Park, where the governor awaited them, and the Avengers assembled on the platform. Despite the distance, Di could tell that they looked distinctly uncomfortable. After all, it had taken six months to track them all back down and get them to come to New York. Di supposed that even superheroes might have lives of their own.

In any event, they looked incredible: Captain America, looking most comfortable, handsome Thor, his famous hammer gripped loosely at his side, Bruce Banner, smiling thinly, with the potential to rip a skyscraper apart, the Black Widow, no doubt the object of half the male audiences' stares, and Hawkeye, the amazing marksman, fingering his bow nervously. Di frowned, and re-counted.

"Where's Ironman?" called someone from the crowd. Di saw Captain America take a mic and reply, catching something that sounded like "fashionably late." Whatever it was, it was amusing, because the crowd chuckled.

A moment later Di picked up a murmur from the crowd behind her. It spread like a wave, finally reaching the Avengers at the opposite end of the park. Captain America grinned. "There he is."

At first he was just a speck in the sky, zooming in from the direction of the newly rebuilt Stark Tower. The crowd erupted into a roar as Tony Stark sped overhead, hundreds of feet in the air. What an entrance, Di thought. Tony Stark was definitely a character. Di remembered Stark's trial a couple years ago, when the government had wanted to copy his suit design, and grinned. Ironman was cool, in a different, more familiar way than the rest of the Avengers. Captain America was a WWII hero, with WWII behaviors; Thor was a Norse god out of legends; Black Widow and Hawkeye were CIA or something, and as such had appeared out of nowhere; and Banner had too recently been a menace than an aid for many people to be comfortable with him. In short, the Avengers were strange, aloof—all except for Ironman. Tony Stark was a New Yorker, and he was practically invincible—at least he acted that way.

Suddenly, Ironman swerved and dipped. It was an action too rigid to be purposeful, and a moment later Di gasped—along with the rest of New York—as Tony Stark stopped flying altogether, and plummeted towards the ground.

When Di thought about it later, she realized what a stupid idea it had been. Even as her mind jumped to various conclusions—had he lost power?—Di had looked to the Avengers, and realized that they were at least a block away from Ironman, without any way to catch or break his fall. With or without super armor, falling five hundred feet onto solid concrete was fatal, and Tony Stark was about to become street pizza. With that thought, Di took off.

By the time she had had any second thoughts, she was in the air and it was too late. So Di sped towards Ironman, angling upwards and going as fast as she could. She hit him at about two hundred feet, wrapping her arms around the smooth metal torso of the suit, and the impact knocked all the momentum out of her. Instantly Di realized that there was no way she could lift Ironman; the suit must weigh close to a ton, and Di was barely a hundred fifty pounds. Even as she strained upwards with all her might, the two of them were descending at a dizzying rate.

If there was one sensation in the world that Di couldn't stand, it was falling. Di used her special abilities to make sure it didn't happen often, but at the moment she didn't have much of a choice. Letting Ironman fall now would be worse than if she hadn't moved in the first place. Di forced herself not to panic, not quite succeeding, and glanced around desperately for an idea. A second later she found one, and with barely a hundred feet to go, swerved with all of her strength into the side of the nearest building.

While Di had often wondered what the glass front of a skyscraper might look like shattering, she had never anticipated being the shattering agent. It wasn't pleasant. Luckily, she was partially sheltered by Ironman, who took most of the impact. Di wasn't even sure the window would've shattered without his bulk. In any event, the entire panel shrieked and exploded into tiny pieces. The shock ripped Di away from Ironman and sent her flying across the room and into the far wall. It wouldn't have mattered if Di had held onto him at that point: her plan had worked.

While learning the delicacies of flying, Di had discovered that if you had to crash, skidding was better than falling. She got hurt less often when she let her momentum peter out horizontally rather than stopping short on contact with the ground. The same theory had worked here—thankfully—although they had cut it awfully close: Di could see out the window that they were only on the fourth story.

Di remained where she was, panting heavily, and took stock of her injuries. Her arms were red and scraped where they'd hit the window, but as far as she could tell there wasn't any glass in them. Her back was going to be purple tomorrow, Di decided, after hitting the wall, and flying straight into an impenetrable metal suit probably hadn't done her any good either. She had a small cut on top of her head that was bleeding profusely down into her eyes, but she decided it couldn't be that serious, because it had already stopped. Di wiped the blood away with the back of her hand and only succeeded in smearing all over her face.

As soon as Di was satisfied she wasn't going to die or anything, the enormity of what she had just done hit her. She had _flown_ in front of hundreds of people and television cameras. Di's heart pounded and she had urgent desire to go back in time and destroy the inventor of high definition film. What if someone recognized her? What if her _mother_ recognized her? The thought signaled Di's stomach roll around inside her. Di had to get out of here.

She looked around wildly and felt a swell of relief as she realized that she had just demolished an apartment, more importantly, an apartment belonging to someone who was out. Di scrambled out from behind an upturned couch (she must have hit it crashing— _Ouch_ ) and headed towards the window. She could see the crowd from Central Park battling its way towards the street below. She was four stories up; it was probably safe to fly out the window, if she was fast. Di took a deep breath, hoping she didn't have a concussion—if driving with one was bad, imagine flying with one—and stepped towards the edge.

Ironman. The whole reason she was in this mess, and she didn't know if he was alright.

Di glanced uneasily out the window and decided she had a minute or two to spare. She turned back to the wrecked apartment, and winced when she saw that, while she had been lucky enough to hit the back wall, Ironman had gone right through it. Di opted against floating through the jagged hole and crumbling plaster and instead opened the door out into the hallway.

The red and gold Ironman armor was easy to pick out amidst the rubble and debris from the apartment. The suit was powered down, motionless. Di inched forward uncertainly. "Ironman?"

"Stark!"

The call had come from behind her. Di spun around, taking the weight off her toes as she turned to make her even faster. The door to the stairwell was about fifty feet down the hall, slightly ajar, and the sound of rushing footsteps was following the shout. Di froze as someone barreled through the door and into the hall, stopping short at the sight of her.

"Ohcrapdon'tshootme," Di gasped, managing to turn the sentence into a single panic-filled syllable. Her hands flew up instinctively to guard her face—not that it would do much good.

Standing at the end of the hallway, bow drawn and leveled at her, wearing a look of surprise that shifted immediately to deep suspicion, was the amazing Hawkeye. Di tried desperately not to move, afraid that a twitch would get her skewered. The concept of "wrong place, wrong time" had taken on a whole new meaning for Di. Hawkeye may have been an Avenger, but Di had no trouble understanding the threat she posed. People with strange abilities generally fell into two categories: Avengers and villains. Di wasn't an Avenger. Given time, she was sure everything could be sorted out, but she was keenly aware of the fact that an army of television cameras was currently surging towards her location. She had to move now, but if she moved Hawkeye might shoot her.

Di stared at the Avenger in front of her, trying to keep her heart from jumping right out her chest. Hawkeye returned the gaze, looking her up and down quizzically. Di realized how odd she must look: a skinny little teenager with crazy blonde hair and blood all over her face, standing in front of an unconscious (hopefully) Ironman. Di watched him closely. Had he lowered his bow just a little?

Just then, Ironman shifted in the debris behind her. A few soft metallic clicks, signaling who knew what, broke the silence. For the tiniest fraction of a second, Hawkeye's attention was split. Di threw herself through the hole in the wall and sped through the room out the window. Hawkeye followed, but for someone who couldn't fly the apartment was nearly un-navigable, and Di was a mere speck in the sky by the time he reached the edge of the window. Hawkeye calmly replaced his arrow in its quiver and drew out a different, smaller one. Taking aim at the retreating black dot, he fired. Confident he had hit his target, he climbed back through the apartment to the hall.

Stark was up out of the debris, shedding dust with every movement. He had thrown his helmet to the ground and was ripping the rest of his suit off as if it were full of ants. Once Stark was at last clear of his suit the arc reactor in his chest hummed to life. He leaned against the wall, and shook his head.

"It's the suit. How could the suit shut it down…?" He glanced at Hawkeye. "This falling out of the sky thing is happening way too often."

"It's only happened twice," Hawkeye replied dryly. Tony could joke all he wanted—Hawkeye was already thinking ahead, measuring consequences, organizing information. That girl…

"Believe me, that's two times too many. Did you see who that… Were they in a suit or… Who…?" Stark seemed unable to figure out which question to ask first.

Hawkeye hesitated, thinking of the tracker he just tagged the girl with. She was just a kid—he'd look into it himself. No use telling the whole world—which Stark would most certainly do. He shrugged. "Place was empty when I got here."


	2. Chapter 2--Playing Marksman

**Chapter 2: Playing Marksman**

" _Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us."_

 _-Marianne Williamson_

Di was home, watching TV from the sofa and feeling miserable. She was in a fluffy green dress, waiting for seven o'clock when she could escape her mother for a few hours at prom. CNN was gossiping—as it had been doing all week—about "Tony Stark's Guardian Angel." Watching it was making her sick, but Di had made too many mistakes already, the least of which had been _not_ talking about the Avengers when her mom got back to the hotel. She had been worried for Di, certainly, but after Di assured her that she had been far from the commotion, Mom had proceeded to ask every detail about the incident. Di had acted disinterested, and consequently Mom suspected something was wrong, especially when she noticed the scrapes on Di's arms—which Di had forgotten to hide in the rush to conceal the cut on her forehead and the rips in her clothing.

Since then, Di verged on obsession, gossiping even more than CNN about the event, to allay her mother's concern. Di wasn't sure, now that they were home in Phoenix and far, far away from New York, if her mom had forgotten about it yet, so she kept herself glued to the television set.

Currently the screen was showing an interview of Tony Stark. "Tell us, Mr. Stark, do you have any idea of the identity of the mysterious woman who saved you?"

Stark smiled and the camera cut to a close-up. "No, but I hope she's still there to save my neck the next time I need her. Maybe she'll stick around and let me buy her a drink."

Di blushed and smashed her face into the sofa pillow. The interviewer chuckled and asked some question concerning the Ironman armor's malfunction, which Stark avoided considerably less smoothly. When Di finally came up for air she looked at the clock, and sighed with relief. She clicked the TV off, and bounded upstairs to tell her mother she was leaving. Mom reminded her sternly that she was to be home by nine-thirty, kissed her and let her go with a final reminder to find herself a nice boy to dance with.

Di didn't have a date (she hadn't had a date since tenth grade) but she mostly went to prom to see everybody get dressed up. It was amazing the changes you saw in people when they were in their best clothes. She caught the bus to downtown and walked (well, flew discreetly) a block to Heritage High School. The auditorium was lit up garishly, a multicolored beacon in the dark of downtown Phoenix. Di presented her ticket and slipped inside. She stopped at the refreshment table for a drink and then hunted down one of the few chairs and staked her claim on it. Di let herself sink into a pleasant haze of loud music, laughing friends and junk food. She caught the eye of another wallflower over by the DJ and was just considering asking him for the next song when she heard a voice behind her.

"Not much of a dancer, are you?"

Di turned around and almost dropped her glass of punch. "Oh _crap,_ " she breathed.

Hawkeye flashed a grin at her. "Let's take a walk."

Di looked around wildly—her friends were all dancing, even the wallflower was gone, she was alone in the corner of the auditorium. The music was blaring; everyone was having fun; too much fun to notice the superspy standing next to her. Di slowly put down her cup of punch, afraid the liquid might spill out and start spinning with the rest of the room.

Hawkeye noticed her desperate glances. "You're pretty popular; I've been waiting all night to get you alone. Come on."

He slipped an arm under hers and raised her out of the chair. Di felt her knees straighten of their own accord and held onto his arm tightly in case they stopped working. The thought that someone might recognize him—might recognize him with _her_ —had suspended all capacity for thought outside panic.

They crossed the auditorium, Di wincing as they weaved their way between students and chaperones. Every time someone glanced her way, Di was sure she would hear a shout as they announced the presence of an Avenger in the room. Hawkeye was dressed all in black, not quite as formal as the real partygoers, but no one gave him a second look until they reached the door. As they passed the ticket table, one of the takers addressed Di.

"Going so soon, Diane?" asked her English teacher. Di nodded weakly. He glanced at Hawkeye.

"I'm her ride," he lied smoothly, and they were out of the auditorium, and into the fresh night air and the welcome, concealing darkness. As Hawkeye steered her down the sidewalk, Di felt her heart beat slow down. Now that the immediate threat of discovery was abated, Di had the leisure to worry about where she was going, and more importantly, the fact that she was going there with an Avenger. Di was torn between trying to figure out what Hawkeye was doing here and getting out of there herself. Her fight or flight instincts leaned heavily towards the latter, and almost without thinking Di let her toes rise up off the ground.

Hawkeye yanked Di back to the ground, startling her. "If you fly away, I'll decide you're dangerous. I just want to talk. Answer all my questions and you'll never see me again."

The choice made for her, Di allowed Hawkeye to lead her to a black car on the curb. After all, she reasoned, if he knew where her high school was, then trying hide from him was a lost cause. She got in the passenger side of the two-door and glanced about nervously. How much trouble was she in?

The car growled softly and pulled out on the boulevard. Di glanced at Hawkeye. "How did you find me?"

"Shot you with a tracker arrow. You wouldn't have noticed—it's probably still stuck on one of your shoes or something. Once I knew where you lived, I looked you up and flew down here."

"Did anyone recognize you? Who knows you're here? Are you sure—"

"You're a little paranoid, aren't you? I'm a professional, Diane. Nobody knows I'm here."

"Not even the other Avengers?"

"What?" Hawkeye glanced at her, and then shook his head. "Oh yeah, that's what they're calling us, isn't it? No, although Stark will probably kill me when he finds out."

Di had been doing her best not to freak out. She was barely a yard away from a real Avenger, talking to him, and her voice wasn't even shaking. Hawkeye was friendly enough; it was even getting easier to think. "Why? Did he fix his suit? What happened to it anyway?"

"No idea. He's kind of secretive about his toys. Anyway, he's dying to know who you are."

"You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"That depends on your answers to my questions."

"Oh." Di sighed, and finally said farewell to her secret. At least she was sharing it with someone trustworthy. "I suppose you already know how old I am and my bank account number and all that, right?"

Hawkeye nodded.

"I've been able to fly for a couple years now. I don't know how, it—it just happened. I didn't fall into a tub of toxic waste or anything. I can go really fast." Di grinned. " _Really_ fast. Faster than my mom's corvette."

"Why'd you run away? After you and Stark…" He waved his hand and the abstract gesture filled in the rest of the sentence.

"I didn't want to be on TV. I would've stayed and explained, really, but I wanted—"

"—to keep everything a secret. Nobody else knows?"

"Of course. I don't know what I'd do if my parents found out. They're kind of…" Di trailed off. "I just don't want everyone in the world to know who I am. I don't want anything to change. Does that make sense?"

"Believe me, it makes sense."

"Well, what now? Are you going to arrest me or something?"

Hawkeye laughed. "For what? Flying without a pilot's license?"

Di had to grin. Hawkeye continued. "As long as you keep your head down and don't get into trouble, I'm willing to leave you alone. You do that, and I'll take care of things on my end, okay?"

"Yeah. Believe me, I'm not about to go out and save the world or anything." Di glanced out the window. "What street are we on? Here, I can fly home. Just drop me off anywhere. You know what? It's too bad this is a secret. If my friends knew I'd talked to an Avenger, I'd be the coolest kid in the whole school."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes and pulled into a deserted parking lot. It was the huge one behind the old mall; Di knew her way home from there. Di got out of the car waved goodbye, rocking back and forth eagerly on her heels. Hawkeye stepped out of the car, and tossed something over the top to her. She caught it easily.

It was a small, sleek black phone. The contact list was empty except for one name: Clint Barton. Hawkeye's name, Di realized. She hoped it was too dark for him to see her blush.

"With any luck you'll never see me again," he said, "but just in case you get into trouble, keep that phone."

Di dismissed the last half of the sentence. What kind of trouble happened in Phoenix? No kind, that's what. "I'll see you. You know, on TV, saving the world and everything."

Hawkeye frowned. "If _I_ have any luck, you won't see me there, either."

"I guess being a national hero isn't the most relaxing career, is it?" Di asked.

"It's not so much that as the career it interrupted. Bye, Diane, and let's hope we both have good luck."

Di didn't get a chance to reply, because at that moment, a gunshot rang out across the parking lot.

Hawkeye had been relieved to find out that Stark's guardian angel was exactly what he thought: a harmless kid, in the wrong place at the right time. He even liked her a little—he certainly found himself telling her more than he should have—and didn't regret his decision to protect her anonymity. She could be lying, of course, but Hawkeye had been watching her for three days, and she seemed to be exactly what she said she was. So when a bullet whistled inches past him, Agent Barton was understandably reluctant to think he'd been fooled. There was no other available explanation, however, for the three cars that had sped into the parking lot to surround his own, or for the hail of shots emitting from them.

Hawkeye lunged inside the car—noting the sound of air hissing out of the tires—retrieved his bow and took out the driver and two hit men in the van behind him. His next shot was ready an instant later to hit the Diane as she ran.

In the seconds it took him to remember that the teen's fastest escape route didn't lay behind the vans but straight up, a sniper's dart had lodged in the base of his neck and several more gunshots cracked into the air. Clint ripped it out and launched a quick shot at the sniper—the last one in the first van. New plan, he thought as he turned his attention to the two cars beyond his own. Kill the ambush, then get the girl. Whatever was in the dart would have to wait.

In a few seconds he'd located the hit men behind the other two vans. Eight, maybe nine—it'd be easy. Hawkeye took aim, and felt the familiar, satisfying shudder of his bow as the arrow whizzed towards its unlucky target…

…and missed.

Hawkeye frowned and aimed at the same man. He took an extra second to make sure of his aim, and found the second stretching into two, then three… He couldn't focus on his target; the man was flickering, fogging in and out of sight. With a sinking heart, Hawkeye realized his vision was going, blurring worse every second. He let the arrow go, not even able to see if it missed, and dropped down behind his car, rubbing furiously at his eyes. He couldn't shoot if he couldn't aim.

The car didn't provide the best cover; between the two vans his angle of safety was severely restricted. Hawkeye considered his options, blocking out the half of his mind that was calling him an idiot for not bringing back up. The car's tires were all flat, but if he could run to the empty van…

Never-mind. He couldn't even see it at this point, and he couldn't drive it blind. He was completely cornered. Panic was creeping up on him, tapping on his shoulder, but Clint forced it down. He had enough arrows; there were only eight of them; he had to get lucky a couple times. Right, and he had abundant supply of luck at the moment…

Hawkeye sprang back to his feet and sent a blind shot over the top of his car. More shots, as fast as he could, hoping something would stick, trying to resist the dizzying swirl of colors that the world had dissolved into. A bullet ripped into his shoulder and Hawkeye shot hopelessly in the direction of the retort. His head was pounding, his thoughts going in circles as he searched for a way out of this mess.

Something huge hit him from the side, knocking him over. Hawkeye tumbled to the ground, losing his balance and all sense of direction. It was amazing how much he relied on his sight, he realized. Hawkeye froze when he landed, unsure if he was still under cover. After a few seconds the shots stopped, but he still didn't dare move. What had hit him…?

"Hawkeye?"

Diane! This set Hawkeye's whole theory on its ear. "What are you doing here?" he asked incredulously.

"I was going to come down and—the gunshots—I crashed—oh, whatever. Plan A failed."

She came down to help him, Hawkeye realized. Shoot, he'd underestimated this kid. She was going to get herself killed.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"No. They hit me with… something… and I can't see. I don't suppose you had a plan B?"

"I can fly us out of here, but they're shooting too fast. If you were shooting back…"

"I can't. If I can't see; I can't aim. You've got a better chance of hitting something than I do."

"But you're the best marksman in the world! You don't need to see. I'll tell you where to aim."

Hawkeye shook his head. There was so much more than direction he was missing. Distance, angle, movement… He couldn't even list them all; they came instinctively. "It won't work. Just get out of here."

"Listen," Diane said fiercely. "You have all sorts of crazy arrows. I'm sure some explode. You don't have to hit the people, just the vans. All we need is a distraction. Come on, you're an Avenger."

Hawkeye resisted the urge to inform her that six months ago the Avengers had not been a team of super heroes. They had just been several people trying to stop the end of the world. That didn't make any of them perfect. He knew it wouldn't do any good anyway. Diane wasn't going to leave without him.

"Alright then. Where are you? Help me up." He reached out a hand and she grabbed it. Figuring out the right direction, he rolled over into a crouch, wincing as the wound in his shoulder screamed for attention. With one hand braced against and the car, his sense of direction was less upset. Di handed him his bow.

"Okay," she said. She must have peeked over top of the car, because a second later three shots rang out. "The first one is over—wait. Here." She took his hand again and pointed it. Hawkeye memorized the direction. "Right here, and the other one is over there."

Hawkeye took a deep breath. "Stay down. I hope you have better luck than I do."

"Well, I'm seeing you again, aren't I?"

Hawkeye closed his eyes to keep what was left of his sight from distracting him. One of the vans had been farther away, he remembered, but which one? If he overshot or fell short they were dead. Had it been fifty or thirty feet? He shook away the questions. No point in thinking about it.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah."

Clint sprang to his feet and fired two shots in five seconds. There were two matching booms, and then he felt himself yanked into the air. The sound of gunshots followed, but after a few agonizing seconds they were out of range, high in the air. Hawkeye gripped his bow tightly and trying not to think about falling. He didn't like flying with Stark and it certainly wasn't any better with Diane, who was obviously having trouble with his weight. Give him a plane any day of the week.

Diane held on tight, however, tight enough that the pressure on his shoulder was making him dizzy—although it might have been the height—and the flight was short. Once his feet were on solid ground, he felt around for a wall and then sat down against it. He heard Diane do the same, panting.

"I've got to start flying with weights," she said. "I hope this doesn't get to be a habit."

"Me, too. Where are we?"

"On top of the Bank of America building. Are you alright?" Her voice was tinged with concern.

"I've been shot before, Diane. This is nothing. I'll be fine."

"So who's trying to kill you?"

Clint shrugged. Save that question for after I've had a drink and some sleep and lots of painkillers, he thought.

"You don't _know_?"

"There's a list." Except that this was definitely not someone on that list. Clint rubbed his eyes, a habit he seemed to have acquired in the last few minutes. His thoughts turned to getting home and he groaned. "Fury's gonna kill me," he murmured.

"Who?"

Clint hesitated. It was technically classified infor—oh whatever, Fury couldn't seem to decide whether Clint was an agent or an Avenger, anyway. "Director of SHEILD, my boss, kind of. I shouldn't have gone off without back up. It's what I get for hanging around with superheroes. I forgot I wasn't invincible." He fished his phone out of a pocket, remembered he couldn't see, and handed it to Diane. "Get the number for Natasha for me."

Moments later Natasha's voice sounded from the phone. "Clint? Where have you been for the last three days? I've called you twice."

"I'm in Phoenix, and I could use a pick up."

"What—"

"I'll explain later. Could you just send someone out here?"

Natasha paused and Clint prayed she wouldn't press the issue.

"I'll ask Fury to send a Quinjet. Where are you?"

"I was hoping to avoid involving Fury…"

"You _are_ in trouble, aren't you? I'll come myself."

"Fine. I'll turn on a signal for you. By the way, make sure you bring a medic."

He hung up before she could reply, and winced in anticipation of the trouble he'd be in. This was supposed to be a _simple_ mission…

"Hawkeye?" Diane asked. "Is Natasha the Black Widow?"

Even as Hawkeye realized how quick Diane was to have guessed that from his conversation, he was laughing at her childish excitement. "Avenger" was really a magic word for her.

"What are you laughing at?" the teenager asked, in a tone that suggested she suspected it was her.

"Yes, she is, but that's not her name. She's Natasha, and I'm Clint."

Diane took the hint. "Then you can call me Di. My _grandmother's_ name isDiane."

And that made both of them laugh.


	3. Chapter 3--Shrapnel

**Chapter 3: Shrapnel**

" _Anything built on sand is precarious; it will wash away with the first storm."_

 _-Anon_

Diane stuck around until the jet arrived, and then took off over the side of Phoenix's only skyscraper. She dove towards the ground, watching her reflection in the glass and laughing as the wind fanned her hair out behind her. She had always wanted to do this, but there had always been a light on in the building, or people on the street. Now she simply didn't care. Just feet from the ground she pulled out of the dive and soared back into the air like some derailed rollercoaster. What a night, Di thought. It must be like two in the morning.

Two in the morning!

Di zoomed back to her house, dropped discreetly into the alley and crept in the back. The sliding door squeaked indignantly, but it didn't matter, because her parents were both waiting up in the family room, and both caught sight of her at the same moment. Di winced.

"What do you think you're—"

"Your mother and I have been worried—"

"—understanding the meaning of curfew—"

"—acting so strange lately—oh my Lord!"

Both Di's mother and father stopped talking and stared at her, pure horror painted on their faces. Di took a step back, and looked down to see if she had turned purple or something…

She hadn't turned purple; she had turned red. During the excitement Di hadn't noticed, what with the gunshots and flying and everything, but the left shoulder and sleeve of her prom dress was soaked through with blood from Hawkeye's shoulder wound. Crap, had he been bleeding that much? She hoped he was okay.

Di was brought sharply back to earth by the exclamations of her mother, who was attempting to smother and examine her at the same time. Her father was close behind. Di extricated herself with difficulty—if her parents weren't exactly doting, they certainly loved her—and pushed them away.

"Mom! Dad! I'm fine. It's not mine. It's not my blood." Di cast around desperately for a story. "Casey—at the dance, Casey uh, tripped going out. She fell down the stairs. Completely face-planted. Knocked her front teeth out. There was a lot of— I went to the hospital with her… I'm sorry I didn't call. Okay? Everything's fine. I just—I would really like to go to bed, alright?"

By the time Di finished talking her father was nodding and murmuring something about building codes. Her mother—slightly less stoic in nature—needed a little more time to calm down, but soon enough she was her old self, dying for the gossip of the incident. Convincing her that Di really, really wanted to go to sleep was another ballgame entirely. Finally Di managed to reach her room and peel off her ruined dress. She threw it outside the door, for Mom to do whatever mom-thing she did with ruined clothes. Sprawling on her bed, she prayed for the man who had invented satin sheets. She hoped he was in heaven somewhere, having a martini on her. What a night. What a _night_.

Di slept all morning, waking up when her alarm clock went off and batting it to the floor before falling back asleep. When her dreams began to center around food, Di let herself wake up fully, afraid she would start chewing on her pillow and choke. She trudged into the kitchen and, as her mother was nowhere to be seen, began foraging about for something to eat. She had just plopped herself down on the couch with a bowl of cereal and was reaching for the TV remote, when she heard her parents voices murmuring in the dining room. This quiet behavior was so unusual that Di stopped to listen, surprised that her dad had not gone to work.

Since she couldn't make anything out from the kitchen, Di put down her cereal and crept to the dining room door. Snatches of concerned conversation leaked under the door.

"—read somewhere that kids with these kinds of problems find it easier to talk with someone other than their parents first…" That was her mother, soft-spoken and sensitive, with a magazine article fort everything. Next came her father, a faithful disciple of firm and objective action.

"—I've told you, Jenna, if our daughter has a problem, I'm not going to hear it from—from some—" Di raised her eyebrows and hovered closer to the door, careful not to push it open. Her father must be really agitated to lose track of his words. "—some—"

"Adolescent addiction counselor," her mother offered.

"Yes. A stranger to tell me about my own child. Ridiculous—"

Di dropped abruptly to the ground and crashed into the door, practically choking with disbelief. The dining room door swung open, banging on the doorstop.

"Drugs?" she said incredulously "You think I'm on drugs?"

Di's parents looked surprised and a little uncomfortable to see her, but her father nevertheless assumed his "family discussion" tone.

"You know you can tell us anything, don't you, Diane?"

Di just gaped.

"You've been acting so strange lately," her mother said. "You're out all night; you're tired all the time; you're failing your classes—"

Di found her voice, but could not begin to regain her composure. "I'm failing one class, Mom. One: Anatomy. And that's just because I fell asleep during the midterm."

"That's not the point," her father said. "We don't want you to think you need to keep secrets from us. If you are in trouble, we can help."

"You haven't been yourself." Her mother looked close to tears.

Di smashed her face into her hands, wishing that time would stop, for a just a moment, just long enough for her to reclaim control of the situation.

"Mom, Dad, I'm not on drugs. I'm fine. Just – I'm sorry I freaked you out last night. Can we forget about it?"

Di's father looked at her sternly. "No, we can't." Her mother took Di's folded prom dress out of her lap and pushed it across the table at her. It was still damp, as if she had tried to wash it or something. The top was tucked underneath, displaying a patch of ruined skirt. There was a neat little hole in the silk, the edges slightly burnt—just the size and shape that a bullet might make.

"You need to explain yourself."

 _Oh crap._ Di didn't even bother to think about how lucky she had been last night, considering the fact that the whole thing was going to come crashing down around her ears. She could feel the familiar panic reflex kick in, signaling her heart to speed up and her head to pound. She was saved from an explanation by the chiming of her phone—her new one—which she had left on the kitchen counter last night. Di seized at the chance to step away.

Her mother frowned. "Let it go, Diane."

"I've really got to take this call."

"Sit back down," her father warned. "Whatever it is can wait."

"Seriously, it can't. Look, I'm sorry, but can't you just trust—Dad, stop!" Before Di could stop him, he had stepped past her into the kitchen and grabbed the phone.

"Hello?"

Di snatched the phone away from him with surprising ferocity. The screen informed her that the call had been disconnected from the other end.

"Diane!"

"What's gotten into you?" her mother reproached.

Di spun around, feeling cornered. Her secret was slipping away. Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't they just leave her alone? "You don't understand!" she cried. "You don't understand anything! Don't—Don't—"

Di forced her way past her father and ran out the front door. As soon as there were a few blocks between her and her parents, Di launched into the sky. Higher and higher she went, until the only thing she could hear was herself and no one in the world could touch her. Wiping the tears out of her eyes, she redialed Hawkeye's number. It rang once.

"I suggest you don't leave this phone around." Barton's tone held a hint of reproach.

"I'm sorry. My parents think—never mind. Did you get in a lot of trouble? How are your eyes?"

"I'm in trouble up to my ears, but you're only the least of it. We're going to have to talk, Di, and I mean 'we' as in everyone. That's not why I called, though. Can you do me a favor?"

"Sure." It wasn't like she was going home anytime soon.

"Go check out that lot and see if there is anything left behind. We're trying to track down those snipers."

Di hung up and flew to the deserted mall. No trace of the fiasco last night remained, save for two scorched circles of pavement. She scoured the area but found nothing, marveling at the efficiency of the mysterious hit men. If an Avenger had tried to blow her up she would've run straight to the airport and onto the first plane to Antarctica. Scratch that, she would've run straight to Antarctica. Di called Hawkeye up with the bad news and then flew to the Bank of America building to think.

She sat on the gritty roof, considerably calmer, chewing over her options. She was confident that she hadn't actually let anything slip—perhaps she could make up something about a boy, or whatever. Anything to get her parents on the wrong track. It would have to be a whopper of a story.

The other knot Di was attempting to work out was the Avengers. She was going to meet the Avengers! She could hardly believe it. Hawkeye was one thing; after all, he wasn't the coolest of the team of superheroes by far. Captain America though… Di just knew she would say something stupid in front of him.

It wasn't all coffee and pie, however. Meeting the Avengers meant that they'd all have to be in the same place. Either they'd have to come to Phoenix, or she would have to go to New York. Both were impossible to do discreetly. There was no way Di could pull off a trip to New York with her parents' present state of mind. She hadn't ever flown that far, anyway. In any event, Di had a feeling that the "talk" would have repercussions. A random flying teenager couldn't be allowed to run amok, after all. She could foresee no ending that included her continued anonymity. Di silently directed her resentment at Hawkeye's Director Fury, sure that he was somehow behind this.

"I could be an Avenger. Then no one would push me around…" Di clapped a hand over her mouth, glancing around the empty rooftop. She couldn't believe she had said that out loud. It was impossibly silly. Her parents weren't _that_ blind.

What if they didn't mind? Di wondered. What if she told them everything, right now? She was tired of lying to them anyway. Di savored the question, almost tasting the relief she would feel after coming clean.

…but what if they did mind?

It was a deadlock, and Di kept thinking in circles, worrying at the problem until she could hardly bear to think about it. She cast her eyes around for a distraction, and noticed a grimy penny on the ground before her. Now who would drop a penny on a rooftop? She picked it up. It was one of those old commemorative affairs dedicated to some public hero or something. Must be years old, she thought. The face on the head's side was too worn to make out, but on the tails…

That symbol was unmistakable. Even through layers of slimy dust and dirt, Di could easily make out the concentric circles and center star: Captain America's shield. Di smiled, and knew what she had to do.

Di's new phone rang and she flicked it open, slipping her new good luck charm into her pocket. "Clint? What's up?" Her tone was considerably lighter; she was feeling better already.

"So it's first names now, is it?" purred a strange voice. Di pulled the phone abruptly from her ear and stared at it. She half expected it to be leering at her, but it showed no sign of the crisply sinister voice that had hijacked it.

"Who is this?" she asked warily.

"A friend, perhaps. It depends on how skilled a liar you are. Are you really so ridiculously in love with those fools as you seem, or is it a charade? Are you a pawn or a player?"

Di's thoughts were jumping so erratically that it was an effort to speak. One thing at a time. Only Hawkeye knew about this phone, so if the stranger was calling, he must have Clint's phone... Beyond that, Di's brain refused to consider the implications. "How did you get this number?"

"Very easily. Which are you, Diane?"

Di took a ignored him and tried to organize her thoughts. 1. This creep knew her name. 2. Clint was possibly in danger. 3. She had no way of telling anyone any of this. Di was up a creek.

At least she could get some information. Di could play twenty questions, too. "If this is a game, then I suppose you think you're above the rules? You were behind those hit men, weren't you?"

"My dear, I _write_ the rules. Rule number one: the Avengers lose. So I wouldn't be on their side."

"Sounds like a pretty stupid game."

"A pawn, then. Too bad, you might have been useful."

Di bristled in spite of herself. "You better hope this isn't a game of chance," she warned. "You might turn up a wild card."

"I advise you not to play this game, child. Adults play for keeps, and the Avengers can't protect you."

"I don't know if you missed the end of the world last year, but whoever you are, I think that they can take you," Di retorted. "And I can take care of myself," she added.

"Everyone has a weakness. Even you."

"Are you trying to scare me?"

"I'm warning you that I'm very thorough."

Despite her big words, Di was scared, and she stood listening to her own heart beat for a full minute until she realized that he had hung up. As far as threats went, it was a doozy. She glanced around at the deserted rooftop. There was no way anyone could touch her up here. Nevertheless, she found herself backing slowly against a wall. She was safe, she reassured herself. She was a nobody—the worst anyone could do was kill her and she could always fly away and hide. All she would have to do was make excuses to her parents.

Her parents—!

Di shot up into the air and sped towards her home. Without any semblance of discretion she landed in the front yard and rushed inside the house.

"Mom! Dad!"

Then the building blew.

Tony Stark was deeply preoccupied. He had gone over his malfunctioned Ironman suit a thousand times, but the reason for its short-out still eluded him. The first minute—and every minute thereafter—that he had gotten to himself after the incident had seen him examining every aspect of its circuits and all of Jarvis's records. There was distressingly little information. Tony had already been working on his newest model when it crashed, but it still grated on him that he couldn't fix the old one.

Tony was in his penthouse on top of Stark Tower, newly renovated and primed for all sorts of fun, including the lab downstairs that Banner had appropriated for himself. Tony usually liked Dr. Banner, but he had been less than sympathetic towards Tony's current obsession ("Why not just make a new one?") and Tony therefore avoided the lab. So here he was, thinking in circles.

A hand rested on his shoulder. "I thought you were going to take a break."

Tony didn't look around. "Don't you have a company to run or something?" he told Pepper.

"I do. Yours, in fact. It would be a lot easier if I didn't have to babysit you all the time. Come on, Tony. Stop thinking about it and you'll come up with the answer."

"I'm not thinking about it." Tony gestured at the TV and the half-empty martini glass beside him. "See? I'm relaxing."

Pepper came around to face him, a hand darting out to snatch the portable holo-pad in his lap. His attempt to stop her was only half-hearted. She glanced at the figures he'd been shuffling. "I'm not going to pretend to understand this, but Dr. Banner says that you've probably had too much to drink."

Tony groaned. "I want that man out of my lab. He's no fun at all. And he's nosy."

"You're the one who let him into the computer system. Besides, I think he's kind of sweet." Tony just snorted and she continued. "He said that you were coming up with some astonishing breakthroughs—but that you seemed to have forgotten about the Law of Energy Conservation. I'm glad he's checking up on you. How many drinks have you had, anyway?"

"Only one. I'm just hitting too many dead ends."

"So you're disregarding the laws of nature?"

He smirked at her. "If anyone can do it, I can."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Well, when you're ready to return to civilization, some people from S.H.E.I.L.D. have been calling."

Just what he needed. He had literally saved the world less than a year ago, and Fury was already bugging him. "Do you think if I started a colony on the moon it would be out of his jurisdiction? Or should I go further?"

"I suppose that's where you plan on building Potts Tower?"

"I can't believe I'm still paying for that."

Pepper gave him a peck on the cheek and left Tony to his equations. He ended up watching the news and inventing interesting ways to kill stupid reporters. Especially the ones who questioned "Ironman's reliability in view of the recent disaster."

"Sir? We have an intruder," Jarvis informed him.

"Huh?" Tony tore himself from plans for a mysterious skiing accident and headed for the elevator. "Who is it?"

"No one I have a match for. You're going the wrong way. She's on the roof."

"How could someone get on top of the—" Tony stopped short.

"Hello? Ironman? Anyone? Somebody help…"

It was a kid's voice, coming from the balcony. A girl stumbled into view and banged her fist weakly on the unbreakable glass wall. Jarvis was programmed to automatically roll out the retractable walls in case of a security breach. "Let her in," Tony ordered, still staring at the disheveled teenager. No flying suit, no gadgets of any kind… it was incredible.

The glass walls retreated into their niches, and the teen rushed inside. "You've got to help! Someone has to find Hawkeye—I think something happened to him and I got this call and there was a man on the phone and he was watching the whole time and he sent the hit men and I think he may have done something and my house blew up and I don't know if my parents were inside or not and"—her eyes widened—"you're Tony Stark!"

"So they tell me—what happened to you?" Tony noticed the left side of her face for the first time. Between her babbling and his preoccupation with her flying abilities he hadn't noticed the dried blood caked on her forehead and cheek, as well as on her clothes.

"My house blew up." The kid looked close to tears.

Shrapnel. A chill ran up Tony's neck. The girl could be dying and she wouldn't even know it. He steered her to the elevator. "Come on. Jarvis, we still got that mineral analyzer?"

"Yes, sir. In the lab."

"Good, start it up. Tell Dr. Banner that it's time for him to be useful."

"I take it you're not going to the hospital?"

"Hey, I'm a genius, he's a genius: we should be able to figure something out."

"Mr. Stark? Have you talked to Hawkeye since last night? Is he okay?"

"Kid, I haven't seen him all week. What happened to you?"

"He came to see me and these hit men showed up and tried to kill us. So I flew us to the bank of America building—"

"The one on Fiftieth? Why didn't he call for help?"

"No, we were in Phoenix. He gave me a phone, and then it rang and it wasn't him—"

"Phoenix! How did you get here?"

"I flew."

"Two thousand miles?"

"I've been flying for hours." As if saying so made the thing real, the girl suddenly swayed. "Someone's gotta find…"

Tony caught her as the elevator doors opened. Banner was waiting, and his eyes widened at the sight of her. "Who's that?"

"No idea. Clear me some space."

Banner gathered the equipment off of one of the counters and Tony set the girl down on it.

"Jarvis?"

"Ready, sir." Tony followed the light on the wall to the long disused mineral analyzer. The wide metallic panel was slightly bulkier than most of his other stuff; he gave it to a robotic lift installed in the wall and fiddled with the settings.

"Stark, what's going on?"

Tony finished adjusting and directed the lift over the girl. Banner had already cleaned her up—she wasn't nearly as bad as she looked. There were only half a dozen gashes in the left side of her face and four more on her shoulder and arm.

"Start scanning, Jarvis. I want a map of every inch of this kid's face." The analyzer whirred to life and the nearest computer screen flickered on.

Banner whistled. "Looks like it was a glancing blow. Nothing too deep."

"Scan finished," Jarvis said. "Aluminum-iron blend, used in commercial sinks. Ten—"

"That's it Jarvis. Just leave us the visual." Tony glanced at Banner. "Think you can dig them all out?"

Banner raised an eyebrow. "Sure. No anesthesia, no supplies, no proper tools. If she wakes or moves I could tear her face up. It'll be easy. What do you want me to work with?"

"I have a couple of big electromagnets and a whole selection of meds upstairs."

"I'm sure you do. Can't we just take her to the hospital?"

"She _flew_ here. From Phoenix. Something about Barton and people trying to kill her."

"Flew? As in…?"

"Yup." Tony grinned at the look on the scientist's face. "So how about it, Dr. Banner?"

He hesitated. "Better make sure those electromagnets are clean. You got a sterilizer?"


	4. Chapter 4--Avengers Tower

**Chapter Four: Avengers Tower**

" _Very few people realize that heroes are only human."_

 _-Anon_

Diane's face itched. She woke herself up rubbing her face into the pillow to stop it. It didn't work—she nearly suffocated and her skin was still crawling. She sat up and tried to scratch, but her fingers were blocked by gauze. Di's toes curled as she tried to suppress the urge to rip to it off and scratch. She cast her eyes around the room for a distraction.

Dark room, soft sheets, sleek furnishings and fancy art on the walls. Di frowned as she ran through her memory. Four hours of hard flying was sufficiently traumatizing that her brain attempted to block it out. _Just leave it alone_ , it told her. _You do not want to know._ She threw off her sheets and wandered into the bathroom, digging her toes into the rich carpet. She splashed water on her face, forgot about the gauze, and remembered the itching. Giving a small growl of frustration, she peered at her reflection. Everything came back to her.

Di jumped like she had been pinched and rushed back into the bedroom, looking at everything. She was in Stark Tower! The room took on a new quality; it was like seeing holy relics in a church.

"Tony Stark lives here," she told herself softly. "You could run into him any minute." Seized with a sudden desire to look presentable, Di returned to the bathroom and studied the mirror once more. White gauze covered her left cheek and part of her forehead; there was even a strip bridging her nose. A few other pieces were attached to her neck and shoulder. Pretty good for surviving an assassination attempt, she thought.

She washed her face and hands and ran her fingers through her hair. The result was slightly better than a rat's nest. Di glanced around for a brush. Nothing on the counter; the drawers didn't have handles, either.

"What are you looking for, Miss?"

Di froze. She was _not_ getting used to this strange-voices-out-of-nowhere thing. She was completely alone. "Where are you?"

"About forty stories down, but you don't have to worry; I'm Mr. Stark's computer system. Is there anything you need?"

Di nodded. The voice was coming a speaker somewhere, even though she couldn't identify it. "So you're like… the butler?"

"I run everything in Stark Tower."

What were you supposed to say to a computer? Good job? Do you take tips? Di realized her mouth her mouth was open and closed it.

Just then, a door opened in the bedroom. "Diane? I hear you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"So you're a spy, too?" Di said to the computer. She didn't know if it heard; she didn't even know where it was. Di peeked out of the bathroom and gaped. The Black Widow saw her and smiled.

"Hey, I'm Natasha. I've got clothes for you." She held up a small bundle.

Di glanced down at the satin pajamas she was wearing—not hers, too big, not even going to ask—and came out of the bathroom to meet her third Avenger. Natasha exuded friendliness, putting Di at ease. Nevertheless, she still had to suppress the urge to babble. "Thanks a lot. I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. You're so amazing."

"Whoa, turn it down; you sound like you're trying to sell me something. You are just like Clint said." She laughed. "And nobody believed him."

Di abruptly remembered her chilling phone call. "Clint! Is he alright?"

"He's fine. Relatively. Nobody's too happy with him right now. They were upstairs grilling him last time I checked."

"It's really not his fault. He was trying to be nice to me and then everything went to pieces."

"It's completely his fault, but don't worry about it. Taking orders isn't quite his forte, and since Fury's let us all on a loose leash… never mind. So, girl of the hour, from what Clint tells me, you'll probably freak out when I tell you that the whole gang is upstairs waiting to meet you."

Di frowned. Was it really that obvious? She thought of the mysterious caller's opening remark, along with everything that had happened afterwards. She was going to have to pull herself together. The Avengers needed help; she needed help, and she was going to stop being a silly fan-girl if it killed her. Thinking of her parents made that no problem at all.

"Well, he's wrong. I'll go up and meet the lot of them now."

"Alright, Miss Confidence. You might want to get dressed first."

By the time Di was dressed and presentable, her resolution was wavering slightly. If everyone was as friendly as Natasha (who could untangle hair and tell spy stories at the same time and make it sound normal), then Di figured she'd be alright. As long as she didn't say anything stupid. And as long as they didn't all come at her at once. And as long—Di stopped thinking about it.

The elevator moved ridiculously slowly, inching upwards a mere two floors. The door opened to the sound of arguing voices.

"Look, it's been barely twenty-four hours since this started and even _I'm_ behind now. I wasn't aware I was supposed to report to you every time I stepped outside."

"What about the trick you pulled last week? 'Oh, I didn't see anyone. Place was empty.'"

"I didn't want you setting up a manhunt when I could deal with it myself."

"Oh wonderful. If that's how you deal with things, then it's no wonder SHEILD is useless.

"Lighten up, Stark. He made a mistake—a stupid mistake—but we're not exactly a well oiled team, here."

"We're not a team. I told you, Cap: that was a one-gig thing. I'm perfectly willing to let the Jolly Green Giant use my lab, but I'm not running a community center for veterans and SHEILD agents. I'm surprised Fury hasn't already renamed this joint Avengers Tower."

"You three have gone over this a hundred times. I don't understand what the trouble is."

"The trouble is that a flying teenager showed up here with half a kitchen sink in her face and this idiot knew where she was all long."

Di was too absorbed in the conversation to realize how long she had been standing there. Natasha gave her a slight push forward. "Boys, your flying teenager is here."

The other five Avengers all turned to look at Di. Thor was leaning against a wall with his brawny arms crossed before him. Captain America was between Hawkeye at the bar and Ironman behind it, apparently trying to reconcile them. Dr. Bruce Banner had looked up from a handheld computer. Di drank in the sight. The Avengers!

"It's nice to finally meet my guardian angel." Tony Stark was first to accost her. There was a swagger to his step and an aura of perfect confidence hovered around him. "I would've introduced myself before but I'm a little too famous for that. Plus you passed out last time I saw you. Call me Tony."

He was teasing her. Di smiled. She knew how to be teased. "I seem to recall you doing the same thing the time before that."

"A point for the teenager. I think I'm going to like you, Diane."

"Call me Di. I suppose we're even now, right?" She gestured at the bandage on her face.

"The credit is actually mine," interrupted Banner. Di looked him up and down, mentally trying to reconcile his appearance with images she'd seen of the massive Hulk. He had and affable, quiet look, with faint network of nervous wrinkles behind his smile. " _He_ wanted to give you a dozen different pain meds. You would've woken up in a decade or so. How are you feeling?"

He just had to call her attention back to her itching face, didn't he? Di caught her hand sneaking up to scratch and clamped it at her side. "I feel fine. Like nothing happened. You're a good doctor."

"Cap! Get over here and be sociable. She won't bite you," Stark commanded. "He's afraid of teenagers. Too technology-savvy. We had to force him to buy a cell phone," he told Di.

Steve Rogers gave Stark a withering look and then smiled warmly as he put out a hand for Di. Di told herself firmly not to stare but couldn't help doing so anyway. Of all the Avengers, Captain America was her favorite. She shook it, trying to remember how to breathe. Don't say something stupid. "Hi."

"Nice to meet you, Diane. That was a pretty brave stunt you pulled at Central Park. I wouldn't try to do it again, though."

"Oh, she'll do it again. Believe me." Di tore herself away from Captain America and glanced at Hawkeye.

"Clint!"

She grinned and zoomed over to him, too eager for time-consuming footsteps. Tony whistled and nudged Banner.

"What did I tell you? Like she's walking on air. Not even I can do that."

"There are quite a lot of things you can't do, Stark," Natasha said dryly.

Di nearly crashed into the bar, flinging her arms around the very surprised Avenger and giving him a hug. "You can see me! You're alright!"

" _I'm_ alright? You just got blown up and you're worried about—you are the craziest kid I know."

"Is she the president of your fanclub, Hawk?"

"Shut up, Stark."

"Could you humans stop carping at each other long enough for the girl to tell us what's going on?"

Di glanced over at Thor, a slightly stern, aloof presence, and received a nod of acknowledgement. She supposed he wasn't one for introductions. "He's right. I need your help."

Di told them everything, starting when she first learned to fly, and ending with the explosion at her house. Stark was fascinated by her power, asking questions about her limits and so forth in between snarky interruptions. Thor and Captain America could hardly believe her daring in the parking-lot ambush—they even had Hawkeye confirm it, who dressed it up considerably with praise. Everyone was deeply interested in her phone call. Clint insisted that no one could've tapped the phone—he'd gotten it from Agent Hill at SHEILD. It was untraceable.

" _Supposed_ to be untraceable. You should've asked me for one."

"That would've defeated the point of avoiding you."

"How did you get Hill to get you one?" Natasha asked.

Clint shrugged. "She did the whole operation. She's been awfully friendly lately."

"This is Maria Hill we're talking about right? 'Fury's pet jackal'?"

"Obviously we need to look in this," Captain America cut in. "You two see what you can find out about Fury and Agent Hill. Tony can go in the back door as well."

"Hold on there. Didn't I just tell you I wasn't running a bed and breakfast? Go give orders somewhere else."

"Why don't we just lure the plotter out? If he wants to prey on Avengers, we'll set some bait. I'd like to see what happens if he tries to ambush _me_ ," Thor rumbled.

"Listen, big guy, if you're going to come down and play with us mortals you should keep up with the times. You can't just go stand on a street corner, announce a duel, and expect the guy to show up."

"He's right," Natasha said. "If you start fighting in the middle of the city, the people are going to riot. Have any of you watched the news lately?"

A collective groan sounded from all quarters.

"They all love us; they just don't want us around. It's not only the news," Dr. Banner said. "I got a very polite letter from the mayor asking me to move out of town."

Di was sitting on the couch after finishing her narrative and watched the bickering with dismay. They talked over each other and sent jabs back and forth so quickly that Di could hardly catch them all. The Avengers were supposed to be… more together than this. "Hey!"

Everyone stopped and the room's attention settled uncomfortably onto her. "You guys sound like a bunch of kids."

"This is coming from the teenager…"

"My parents are missing."—Di would not consider the alternative—"You're Avengers. Go find them. You owe me."

"Did I mention that Di has complete faith in the word 'Avenger'?" Clint said. To Di, he said, "I'm going to turn your luck around. I promise."

"I'm in." Captain America glanced around at them. "It's not saving the world, but it might be nice to play a little low-stakes poker for once. Besides, if the nut behind this has the resources to blow up a kid's house just because she got in the way, it would be nice to get him off the streets."

"And if it involves a mole in SHEILD, then I'm interested," Natasha agreed.

Tony groaned. "Avengers Tower it is. How about you, muscles? Can you tear yourself away from Asgard for a few weeks?"

Thor did not deign to acknowledge Tony's joke. "I'm still here, aren't I? I'll stay until the problem is resolved, but I do have other responsibilities."

"What a good Samaritan. Don't be offended, kid, he's always like this. When he's here, he thinks about there, when he there, he thinks about here..."

"Alright gang," announced Captain America. "Natasha and Clint are checking out SHEILD, Tony and Bruce can do their technical voodoo and Thor and I will go scouting around. Meanwhile, we all stay in the city. If this guy's after us then he's bound to be in New York somewhere, leaving traces."

"Are you sure that's a good idea? You two don't exactly blend in…" Natasha started.

"Then it's time we started practicing, isn't it?" countered Cap. He glanced at Tony. "Stark, don't say it."

"Say what?"

"What you were thinking. Everyone good?"

"What can I do?" Di asked. "I want to help."

"Oh no. You're staying here with Banner. You said yourself this guy likes surprises. If something goes sideways I want you safe up here."

"But I can just fly away! I wouldn't be in the way."

"You're too young," Thor said. "You could get hurt."

"Please! I'll be fine." Di looked around for support.

Clint shrugged. "Sorry, kid. Look what happened last time I told you to fly away?"

"I saved your life. Come on!"

Natasha shook her head. Banner agreed with the others as well. "This superhero thing isn't what you see on TV, Diane."

"Why the heck not? She's going to get in trouble anyway. Maybe I could even get her some armor." Tony Stark shot to the top of Di's Cool Grown-Ups list.

"Absolutely not."

Di opened her mouth to argue, but stopped. She hated it when other people were right, and she hated it even more when other people thought they were right. This was Captain America, however. She just couldn't argue with him. She sighed and scratched absently at her bandage.  
"Diane!"

Di was not the only one to jump, considering the speaker. Banner was glaring at Di. "Why didn't you say that itched?"

Di's heart resumed beating. "Sorry."

Banner rolled his eyes. "Downstairs. Come on."

Poor kid, thought Dr. Banner as he gently stripped the white gauze off Di's face. She thinks she's found Candyland. She doesn't know what she's gotten herself into. Banner sighed and realized he already liked her. Who knew a kid would have the Avengers going all gooey? The girl sat patient and still, apparently a little intimidated. "So who are you, Diane? Aside from Stark's new toy?"

That elicited a small grin. "I'm not anybody really interesting, if you don't count the flying thing. I like to watch movies, shop… girl stuff, you know? I was on track team because I love being fast. I used to go kart racing before I found out how fast I could go flying. I couldn't really race anyone that way, though." The girl paused, as if searching for a new topic.

"School?" he offered.

"I guess I like school. I'm not a genius, like you and Ironman. I'm a junior, so"—Di suddenly giggled. "I think I just missed my finals again. They were this morning. I'm going to fail."

"You missed them again? What happened the first time?" Just keep her talking. Any minute now it's going to hit her. The consequences.

"I fell asleep 'cause I was flying around the night before. I'm always flying, actually. I was careful all the time, but my parents are pretty smart; they knew something was wrong. They thought I was doing drugs or something."

The last of the gauze was off. Eight small, red nicks dotted the left side of her face. Although healing better than expected, Di's bright young face would be forever marred by the tiny white scars yet to form.

"I was going to tell them, but…"

"We'll find them, Diane." Bruce took a deep breath to quell the tension building up in his chest. He had always been level headed, and his temper was probably the most tightly controlled in the world, but the one thing he could never understand—could never quite handle—was when bad things happened to good people for no reason. "You're doing fine, but I want to keep these cuts covered up another day."

His voice must've caught, because Di suddenly spoke. "Shouldn't I be the one getting upset?"

Banner stopped with his hand on the gauze. The girl had her head cocked, looking at him. "You don't have to worry about me," he said.

Diane smiled, her soft eyes revealing just a touch her own pain. "I've been worrying about the Avengers since before they were Avengers."

Di found Hawkeye out on the top floor balcony, alone. She settled on the barrier next to him. Di had just come up from talking with Banner, and was feeling a little pensive. The Avengers were turning out to be less perfect than she imagined. She had the feeling that if she had been closer that day in Central Park, she would've seen that their smiles didn't extend to their eyes. Something was eating at them, but Di couldn't put her finger on it. Di looked over the balcony at the view of New York sweeping before her. The city of lights… "It's beautiful," she breathed.

Hawkeye glanced over at her. "Stark pulled up your local news after you left. They're still sifting through the mess. Should know tomorrow."

Di knew what that meant. If they didn't find any bodies, then her parents were alive. Maybe not safe, but alive at least. Change the subject. "They fix your eyes?"

"No. Banner's looking at some of my blood. It's a virus, brilliant apparently, that only reacts with adrenaline. It wore off almost as soon as you left."

"So who makes it?"

"No one. It doesn't exist, according to the eggheads. Some genius custom-made it for my personal benefit. We're not likely to find him."

He was holding something back. Di frowned. "Come on." She jabbed his shoulder playfully. "Too embarrassed to talk to me with your friends watching?"

For the second time that evening, Clint gave her an incredulous look. "You're not the least bit angry with me, are you? For starting this whole thing?"

He felt guilty. Di was forced to laugh. The best marksman in the world was afraid that she was mad at him. It was ridiculous. "It's not your fault. I just have bad luck, remember?"

"How can you take this so well? You're laughing after all this."

"I don't see you freaking out when bad stuff happens."

"I'm not sixteen."

" _Seventeen_."

"Seventeen in two weeks."

"Being friends with a spy sucks."

"So does being friends with a teenager."

"Hey! Some of my best friends are teenagers." Neither of them could hold a straight face any longer. Once their chuckles faded into the city lights around them, Di sighed. "It's kind of like, if I don't laugh, I'm gonna cry, you know? And I don't cry."

Steve Rogers was sitting at the darkened bar, thinking. About the girl, about the team, about the date: April 2, 2014. A glance at the digital clock told him that it was already April 3. He wished he could hear it ticking, if only to be absolutely sure that it wasn't going faster when he wasn't looking. What he would give to slow it down. High above the bustle of the city, Steve closed his eyes and imagined it all gone, replaced with the soft murmuring of a 1940s town rolling along at a decent pace.

 _Thunk._

Steve opened his eyes. Everyone was asleep; he was alone.

 _Thunk._

"Jarvis? Are you there?" Steve was still not quite sure how to handle the omnipresent computer. Did it ever sleep?

"Yes sir?"

"What was that?"

 _Thunk._

"Miss Wright is downstairs in the racquetball court."

"At two am?"

 _Thunk_.

"She left her room an hour ago and wandered around for fifteen minutes until she asked me to let her in the court. She doesn't seem to be observing the rules. She simply hits the ball as hard as possible against the walls and the ceiling. They're usually soundproof but she's recently cracked it in a few places."

 _Thunk._

"Should I ask her to stop, sir?"

Steve didn't know what Stark needed a racquetball court in his penthouse for, but he could picture the slender girl swiping at the tiny ball, pounding at it fiercely, zipping through the air, even slamming into the walls, perhaps.

 _Thunk._

"Sir?"

 _Thunk._

"Let her be."

 _Thunk._

By the time Di awoke and dragged herself upstairs the next morning, Cap and Thor had already departed to scour the city for trouble, and the top three floors of the tower were deserted. She had gotten used to Jarvis, and asked him where she was supposed to find food, and after finding nothing recognizable in the high-tech fridge, asked him where to find normal food. She was dangerously close to sabotaging the infuriatingly calm computer when Natasha came in and saw her arguing with it. Di reddened. Natasha grinned and began translating the expensive labels into a layman's description of Tony's hedonistic tastes. Di finally had to give up and let Natasha do the cooking. The spy was an amazingly versatile individual.

As Natasha deftly scrambled her some eggs, Di sat on the counter, swinging her feet. "So how long have you and Clint been partners?"

"Years. Forever maybe."

Di had already noticed that Natasha loved to chat about anything—other than the past. It was as if everything farther back than last year hadn't happened. If she related a story (usually about Clint doing something stupid) she could never remember exactly when it happened. So her answer was typical, and Di approached the topic from a different angle. "Does SHEILD send you two out on really dangerous missions?"

"They used to. Now Fury's keeping us on hold—because of the whole Avengers thing—and we're not allowed to do any missions. Clint's going a little stir-crazy. So am I."

"What kind of stuff did you two do?"

Natasha shrugged and poked at the eggs. "Toppled dictators, rescued VIPs, that kind of stuff. After awhile it's nothing special."

Okay, new topic. Di scooted closer to Natasha and tilted her head conspiratorially. It was a long-shot, but maybe it would get her to talk about herself. "Do you like him?"

The eggs nearly tumbled out of the skillet as Natasha lost her grip on the spatula. "What?"

"You _do_! You guys would be so cute together," Di cooed.

Natasha had already regained her composure, however. Hands on her hips, she shook her head vehemently. "Clint is an awesome agent, a sweet guy and the best partner in the world, but he's just my partner."

Di would not be swayed. "I say you like him."

Natasha sighed and assumed the patient tone people reserve for persistent toddlers. "Now why would you think that?"

"Because you're burning the eggs."

Di giggled as Natasha rushed to rescue breakfast, growling under her breath about teenagers.

"Why don't you ask him out?"

"Di, life is sometimes more complicated than it looks from high school."

"You know, the more people tell me that, the less I believe it."

The argument was cut short as Clint stepped out of the elevator, phone in hand. "Tasha, where have you been? I found an old friend downtown who can give us some advice. We're going to see him now."

"On my way." Natasha lowered her voice and fixed Di with a look that said: _I can kill you in fourteen different ways with my bare hands_. "This conversation never happened."

Di smiled sweetly. "Bye, Tasha. Thanks for the eggs."

Befriending the Avengers had its perks. Being stuck in Stark Tower—despite its opulence—was not one of them. Di didn't expect to save the world, but couldn't she at least help find her own parents? Watching the news alone in the huge flat was depressing, especially as the main topic of gossip was the Avengers. After meeting the real people, Di found she no longer had any interest in the gossip or intrigue over them that was usually running 24/7 on some station or other (she used to wonder if the networks divided it into shifts among themselves). It wasn't long before she headed downstairs to lab number two, otherwise known as Tony's cave, where he stored and tweaked his Ironman armor. She stepped out of the elevator and into fairyland. Holographic screens abounded, covering the ceiling and walls, spare parts and mysterious gadgets littered the tables and floor, and at the far end of the room, behind a spacious desk, was a wall of glassed in Ironman suits. Jarvis let her past the keypad lock and she slipped inside, drinking in the aura of genius.

Tony Stark himself was at the center of a veritable hurricane of screens, shifting, studying, and barking out commands for Jarvis. When she came in he cleared half of them away with a swipe of his hand, glanced at her, and then summoned them back once more. That was apparently as much greeting as she was going to get. "Jarvis, run program ANGEL."

"Yes sir."

A smudge of blue holograph detached itself from the swarm around Tony and zipped over to Di. The picture enlarged and focused to briefly show the schematics of some device, then switched to a life sized outline of a person. Di took a step back and the picture floated after her in perfect alignment.

"Don't move, kid."

Di held still while the model shifted—grew shorter, limbs tapering to a slightly more delicate build, torso taking on more feminine proportions. It was a model of her.

"I've heard that teenagers grow fast," said Tony, not looking up, "so do me a favor and just don't."

"What was that?" Di asked as the holograph shrunk and zoomed away.

"Just something in case Cap loses his mind."  
"Huh?"

"Forget it."

Di had asked Jarvis to bring the news downstairs with her, and a decent sized holo had obligingly appeared at her elbow, sound muted for Tony's benefit apparently. Di inspected it from the corner of her eye, and then jabbed it quickly with a finger. The holo bobbed backwards. Di had to suppress a squeal. In a few moments she was bouncing it back and forth, looking ridiculous. A particularly clumsy shot sent the news holo flying out of her reach—and right into the pile of holo near Tony, scattering them everywhere. Di cringed. "Sorry."

Tony shook his head. "It not like I was getting anywhere. I'm starting to dream about the blasted thing."

Di caught venomous look he shot at one of the Ironman suits, and recognized a decent sized dent in the side where a teenage girl had hit it recently. She rubbed her shoulder in memory of the tremendous bruise she acquired. "Your suit? Didn't you fix it?"

"That's the official story. The last thing I want is for the world to know I can't fix my own armor. With my luck Morgan would offer to help and I'd have to kill myself."

"Who's Morgan?"

"Edwin Morgan is head of InfoTech. He's the slickest, slimiest saccharine tablet on the market. He's bankrupted dozens of rival companies—he's worse than Justin Hammer. At least Hammer won't stab you in the back and then offer you candy. But he's a genius, and the press loves him. You can't account for taste."

Di knew a little about InfoTech, the biggest rival to Stark Industries. Every time Stark Industries cranked out a new innovation, InfoTech would have a cut-price generic out within the week—mostly due to this Morgan character, Di guessed. She also vaguely remembered Justin Hammer from Stark's trial a few years ago. This was all very interesting, but Di was more interested in the Ironman suit.

"So what's wrong with it?"

Tony pulled up a holo, maneuvered with it a little and presented Di with a small scale model of the suit a few feet away. "Everything was running perfectly last week before the accident. It follows logically that anything that went wrong was the result of a systems failure on a massive scale. In that case the suit would've failed instantly. Instead, I had about four seconds warning before the main crash, and then two seconds before the backup failed. It's possible that the power system malfunctioned, but there's no possible explanation for the reverse effect on the reactor—"

"Whoa! Wait. I'm only in pre-calculus. Can you do that again slower? Without the mechanics?"

Tony sighed and looked like he might be praying for patience. "The suit reported a power failure before I fell. My reactor generates more power than the suit could use in a month, especially if I'm not fighting a horde of flying aliens or anything strenuous like that. There's no way it could've used up enough power to stop the reactor from working unless there was a major failure somewhere else, which I would've found by now. Even then, it would've shorted out both the suit and the reactor, but when I took the suit off, the reactor was fine. So I have no idea where all that energy was going to."

Di nodded slowly. It was still kind of fast, but she got it. "So something sucked the power out of your suit and killed all the circuitry, and you don't think it's your fault. Someone tampered with it?"

"Exactly. I have a theory, but it's… look here." He highlighted part of the Ironman model. "The suit expends maybe sixty percent of the reactor's output. If something were to siphon off that much—say that's the siphoner's max capacity—then there wouldn't be enough to power the suit. Once the suit was no longer sucking up the extra energy, however, the siphoner could take sixty percent as long as he wants, and I probably wouldn't even notice. It explains everything." Tony bit his lip.

"But what?"

"No one can siphon my power when I'm twenty stories up. You can't remotely absorb energy. It's against the laws of nature."

"Well, so is flying."

Tony dismissed the holo. "A fact that I am very interested in, believe me. If I didn't have to waste power flying that suit around… Are you sure you have no idea what caused it? You didn't fall into a vat of toxic waste or get abducted by aliens?"

Di shook her head. She had no idea—wait. Should she tell him? He might laugh. "Well, there's one thing, but it's kind of silly."

"Well we could use some comic relief here."

"Back home, at the mall, they have this fountain. I was there on my fourteenth birthday, and so I threw in a wish. Next day, I was practicing for track and… took off."

"Do you think they would sell that fountain? I've got a lot of wishes."

"I'm serious! I'm sixteen; it's not like I believe in the tooth fairy, but this, this is weird with cheese on top. I can't help thinking that I was supposed to get my wish."

"Well, if a Norse god can go on a power trip in New York City, then I guess can accept a granted wish in Phoenix. This reminds me—the news from out west: no bodies."

Di's heart skipped a beat. Alive! Her mom and dad were alive and the Avengers were going to find them! Di grabbed the nearest holo and threw it into the air. It ricocheted delightfully off the ceiling and hit Tony, who chucked one at her. Di jumped out of the way and didn't bother to land. What ensued topped every snowball/mud-pie/pillow fight Di had ever participated in. The holos bounced harmlessly off of every surface, rebounding madly in different directions. Di zipped through the air, pelting Tony from above and catching everything he sent towards her.

"You are _so_ losing!" She laughed at him.  
"Oh yeah? Try this out!" Tony expanded the holo he was holding to the size of a refrigerator and batted it towards her. It was too big to catch, too big to dodge—all Di could do was scramble backwards as it advanced towards her. It happened to be Di's news holo, still muted, but showing CNN's live broadcast in expansive digital clarity. The tiniest details of footage jumped out at her as if she were looking through a window.

Di dropped straight to the ground, gaiety forgotten. "Tony! Look at the news!"


	5. Chapter 5--While the World Watches

**Chapter Five: While the World Watches**

" _It is dangerous for a hero to think he is perfect. It is twice as dangerous for everyone else to think so."_

 _-Anon_

"So who exactly are we going to meet?" Natasha asked Clint. She spoke softly, without looking at him. They were standing next to each other on the subway, headed uptown, looking like two complete strangers who happened to be next to each other.

"James North," said Clint as the subway slowed. "My stop. See you."

Natasha was left gaping like a fish as he left the subway car. James North? With a start she reproved herself for breaking cover and left the station two stops down. She met up briefly with Clint on the corner of Fifth and Broad St, before veering off on another "short cut." She and Clint had developed this system for losing tails ages ago, but had never used it as much as when they were staying at Stark Tower. It seemed as if reporters prowled the perimeter day and night, honing in on anyone who went in or out.

Finally they stopped by the foot of an office complex somewhere on the outskirts of town. "Do you mean James fired-from-SHEILD-for-paranoid-tendencies North, or someone less imbalanced whom I don't know?"

"No, that's the one."

"You have such weird friends. How did you track him down?"

"Actually, he found me, after the throw down last year. He wanted to congratulate me for foiling some 'grand conspiracy' that happened to include the alien invasion."

"Clint, this guy thinks that AT&T is trying to take over the world. How is he going to help us?"

"Hey, he's crazy, but if there's anything going in SHEILD that we should know about, he can tell us."

"Do you really think Hill has anything do to with this all?" Natasha asked.

Clint shrugged. "She's been acting strange, but it could be because she's had to take over Phil's job. Maybe she's finally learning people skills. There's really not much against her. Anyone she had working on that trace I put on Di could be the person we're looking for, and all that's assuming we're not dealing with a major leak."

Natasha didn't like it. The argument made sense—it matched her own thoughts—but Clint wasn't usually one to think over all the angles like that. That's why they made a great team: Clint followed his brilliant but reckless intuition, and Natasha kept him up to date on the real information. Natasha tried to put it out of her mind; she needed to stop analyzing everything he said. She wished Di hadn't frazzled her that morning. It was putting all sorts of distracting thoughts in her head.

"Clint? You said Mariah was being very friendly lately. Just how… friendly is that?"

"Hmm?" Clint was scanning the street, presumably for North.

"Are you and Mariah…?"

"What?" Clint rolled his eyes. "Tasha, you need a vacation."

Natasha willed herself not to blush. Note to self: kill Di. Partners. Just partners.

"There he is," Clint pointed out a figure coming along the street.

Clint and Natasha approached the bus stop halfway down the street, where a smartly dressed man was waiting. He looked more like he belonged on Wall Street than this dingy corner. Crisp suit, fashionable hair, and a charming grin, Agent North used to be one of SHEILD's top "smile guys," working undercover to uncover leaks within organizations, even within SHEILD itself, before he had a breakdown that left him convinced the whole world was conspiring against him. His calm, bright eyes were only the result of mountains of medication. Author of nearly a dozen conspiracy books, as well as a few more that SHEILD had preemptively censored, James North was a veritable magnet for scandalous information. Natasha could see the logic behind Clint's decision—to a degree. North could tell you something valuable one moment, and then regale you with something like the AT&T theory.

"Miss Romanov, Clint, it's a pleasure. I understand you have a few delicate questions for me?"

"Lots of questions, James, and I would appreciate it if they didn't appear in your next book."

James' smile tightened slightly. "Don't worry. This will be completely private." He gestured at the earphone he was wearing and the iphone in his hand. "Audio therapy. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I trust you."

"You would do better to be a little more skeptical. If you knew half of what I know…"

"… I would never sleep soundly again. I know this lecture by heart. What I'm interested in right now is if Maria Hill could possibly be behind a plot against the Avengers."

"What's the motive? Is she working alone or is she leaking?"

"We were hoping you could tell us that."

"I have to know the details. What makes you ask in the first place?"

"I was ambushed while on surveillance in Phoenix, and someone tapped a secure phone of mine—both of which Hill organized. This team was good, James. You don't know how close it was."

James frowned and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't have anything on Hill. She doesn't have the imagination for something like that. You know she works best following orders. If she had something to do with it, someone else is pulling the strings."

"Any idea who it could be?" Natasha asked. She had already gotten over her skepticism. North seemed likable, helpful, and reliable, at least for the moment.

"Someone who has a grudge against the Avengers." James glanced at Natasha for the first time and caught her eye. She was surprised by the earnestness in them, as if they were encouraging her to find the answer, as if she was very close. James looked away, sighed and continued, his shoulders dropping slightly. "Have you thought about Fury?"

"Fury? He's the one who thought up the Initiative. Why would he want to destroy it?" Clint asked.

"It's not as if you six have been at his beck and call, is it? Perhaps he's regretting the idea. He has access to everything Hill does, and more."

Natasha's phone rang. With a nod to James and Clint to continue, she answered. "Hello?"

"Someone's playing Demolition Derby with the New York subway system," said Stark. "Cap and Thor are over evacuating survivors under Time Square; I'm headed there now. We need some back up to watch for more crashes."

"Didn't they shut down the subways?"

"They did; it didn't work. If it's terrorists then they've got really fancy toys. I'm leaving the kid with Banner. Can you two get over here?"

"Right away." Natasha hung up and addressed the two men. "Clint, we've got to go. Sorry to cut this short, James. Thanks for the information."

"What's the matter?" Clint asked.

"Cap and Thor went looking for trouble and found it."

James North remained standing alone by the bus stop after Clint and Natasha left. He glanced around idly at the tops of nearby buildings, not really expecting to see anything.

"So, are you going to shoot me now?" he asked.

"Yes," replied the voice in his earphone.

"Then I'd like to say something."

"It won't change anything."

"It will. You've made two big mistakes so far. I'd tell you to watch out for a third, but I'm actually hoping they catch you."

"I fail to see what mistakes I've made."

"You underestimate people. You're taking on the Avengers, and you think you're going to win. That's mistake number one."

"I _know_ I'm going to win. It's hardly a mistake. What about the other one?"

"I'm the Master of Secrets. I carry enough sensitive information around with me to make the guys in the Pentagon lose sleep at night." James North smiled. "Mistake number two: you let me use my cell phone."

A bullet shrieked through the deserted street, and an iphone clattered to the pavement, sporting the message: "text sent."

"I don't get it," Natasha muttered, looking at the flames sputtering out of the subway entrance on Rue Ave. Beneath her feet the station was in ruins; two subway trains had conveniently collided at top speed. Fire engines and police cars had already arrived on the scene, along with EMTs and reporters, all the usual type of people who descend on these catastrophes. They were having trouble getting down into the station, which had partially collapsed after the explosion.

 _"What's the matter?"_ asked Clint over the comms. He was on somebody's roof, trying to spot maintenance entrances for the subway through the smoke billowing out of the station.

"Why hit Rue? Time Square I can understand, lots of people, lots of property, high terror factor. Rue Ave? There a hundred survivors down there, tops."

 _"They're not going to be survivors if we don't find a way down there. Help now, think later."  
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Birdie, but she's right. We need to figure out how they're controlling the subways if the city's cut the power." _Tony interrupted. _"Barring that, if we know why they're doing it we can figure out who they'll hit next. There are hundreds of people sitting in those subways right now, waiting for some psycho to blow them up."_

 _"Well, I don't see what you're doing to help, big shot."_

"Boys," Natasha warned.

 _"I've got the maintenance entrances off of the city database. Closest one is out of service, sealed up. You're practically on top of it, Natasha. Fifty feet north. Get a big strong fireman to blow it open for you."_

"Bite me, Tony. You two find the nearest one on the other side. Tunnel may be blocked." Natasha switched off her end to shut out Tony's next smart comment and headed in the direction of the maintenance entrance. One look at her face and a worry-eyed policeman let her cut through the barricade. Everyone was too distracted to give her more than a passing glance and a prayer for help. Most the city's emergency teams were already battling the bigger crash up at Times Square with Cap and Thor, and they were decidedly short-handed here. Despite the torrent of high pressure water flooding into the station from the fire engine, smoke—and now steam—still guarded the entrance of the station. The heat was oppressive, blasting the surrounding street in an almost physical wave. Everyone's faces were grim. Natasha caught site of a couple of firemen pacing helplessly and beckoned them over. Natasha was usually leery of working with other people, but this wasn't a one-man job. They followed her obediently, no questions—there were perks to this Avenger stuff. "They'll never clear the entrance. I'm using the maintenance tunnel. Come on."

"It's blocked; we already tried it."

Natasha glanced at the panel of scuffed metal on the side of the street. The edges had been cemented over awhile ago, and everyday grime had completed the job. "So let's blow it up."

She slipped a metallic box the size and shape of a bar of soap from one of her many pockets and set it down on the panel. She flipped the switch and backed away, dragging the disbelieving firemen with her. There was a small tinny noise as the box magnetized to the panel and began the ten second countdown. Natasha could not help but grin. She loved blowing things up. Clint always laughed at her and made some remark about girls and their toys, but he never lost to opportunity to let her do so during missions if it was tactically viable. After a satisfying bang vaporized the panel and surrounding pavement, Natasha switched on her comms, requesting a private link to Tony. She had to hand it to him—the communications system was considerably better than SHEILD's, probably because it had a semi-omnipotent supercomputer running it.

"Tony, did you see that?"

" _One of your Widow bombs? Impressive enough, for an amateur. Mind if I take a look at them?"_

"Not a chance." Natasha smiled. Tony had been trying the sneak a look at her gadgets since he had first seen them in action. Amateur her foot. "I'm going in. Is Clint alright?"

" _We just got to the other entrance, so no chance to see how he does yet."_ There was a pause. _"He'll be fine."_

"Tony…"

" _If you want it straight, I don't think he should be out here. Adrenaline is not something you can control. But you try telling him that."_

He was right. There was absolutely no reasoning with Clint sometimes. "If anything at all happens to him—"

"— _you're going to kill me, right? By now you should know I'm used to death threats."_

"No, I won't kill you, but Diane might. Last time I checked she was the president of _his_ fan club, not yours."

No answer. For once, she had knocked him speechless. How Di managed to stand Tony was beyond Natasha, but the girl had him wrapped around her finger.

She broke the link and dropped down into the hole in the street. "Come on!" she yelled up at the firemen. Starting down the small access tunnel, Natasha was almost immediately aware of the smoke wafting past her to the new outlet she had created. A strip of specialized cloth—another of her gadgets—wrapped around her mouth and nose fixed that problem. Her two firemen followed behind, flashlights out, helmets on.

The subway tunnel was pure horror. Two subway trains had slammed together and the one in front of Natasha had gotten the worst of it. The entire tunnel was filled from top to bottom with twisted, red hot metal. The heat was unbearable; the smoke killed any chance of visibility; and the noise—people's screams, the inferno's roar, and an eerie groaning from above—was deafening. Natasha carefully memorized her own steps so she could find her way back to the access tunnel. Unable to communicate with the firefighters, she let them spread out to do their job, hoping they were smart enough to do the same. Farther down, the tail end of the train was intact, and there were people inside. Natasha turned to beckon on the firefighters and found that they had dissolved into the smoke.

Scrambling for a grip on the outside of the doors, Natasha dragged them open a few inches. She couldn't blow them off without hurting the people inside. Pulling harder, she managed to open a person sized space and squeezed through it. She was greeted by a break in the screams. Pulling the muffling cloth off her face, she addressed the dozen people quaking inside: seven adults, a couple of teenagers and three kids. "I've got a way out. Everyone's going to be okay. Just calm down. Is anyone hurt?"

A stocky blonde woman stepped forward. "Bruises and scrapes, concussions later, the kids are getting the smoke bad. Nothing serious." The woman was scared, but confident. Natasha would bet her paycheck she was a nurse, off duty EMT, something like that. What a lucky break. It gave her time to think about a plan. If she could get everyone out at once…

Natasha gestured at the two teenage boys. Despite the life threatening danger, they had been ogling her avidly; she figured if they were alert enough to ogle they were alert enough to help. "Get those doors open." They jumped to obey.

Meanwhile, Natasha had pulled out one of her grappling lines and smashed it against the wall of the subway car. Flicking away the broken pieces, she took the ultra-strong line and tied it to a seat. "I don't want any of you to move until I come back. Then you can follow the line to the exit. Otherwise you'll get lost."

The blonde woman nodded and Natasha jumped down off the car and onto the tunnel floor. Finding her way back was easy; she was met at the exit by a crew of firemen and paramedics, who immediately bustled around to prepare for the coming survivors. When Natasha arrived back at the subway train, the nurse had already organized it occupants. Two adults escorted a woman with asthma first, gripping the line tightly and disappearing into the smoke in seconds. Natasha felt a twinge of unease over letting them go alone, but there was no danger in the tunnel that she had seen other than the smoke and other obvious, unavoidable threats. Next came the kids with their parents and last the teenagers. Natasha let the nurse go in front of her and followed, keeping an eye out for any more survivors.

" _Natasha, how are things going down your end?"_

"Fine. I'm nearly done. There weren't many people left on this side."

" _Well then get over here. We've gotten a few people out of the tunnel and even more out of the train, but we've still got six cars to go and Jarvis doesn't like the sounds I'm getting from the tunnel roof. The station's a lost cause. Anything in there in a fine black powder by now,"_ returned Tony without his usual sarcasm. Casualties tended to mellow him.

"Got it. How about Clint?"

" _Nothing's happened. I don't think he could be happier unless he had something to shoot at. I heard from Cap and they're stretched pretty thin up at the Square. We better hurry this up."_

"Be over soon."

Natasha allowed herself a sigh of relief as they entered the access tunnel. She'd gotten everyone out. Suddenly the line tensed behind her; she froze, instantly alert. A moment later one of her firefighters stumbled into view, grasping her line, an unconscious bundle slung over his shoulder. She relaxed.

"Is there anyone still in there?" she asked.

"No one I could find. I found this one by the station, but I couldn't get any closer. It's bad down there. I got lost; thank goodness I found your rope. Has Evan got back yet?"

The other firefighter must still be lost. "I'll go find him," she offered. The man nodded gratefully and followed the line past her towards fresh air. Natasha fixed her mouth scarf and headed the way he had come. She crept as close as she could towards the crushed station. It wasn't far—the heat was a nearly tangible wall that kept her back. "Evan?"she called.

No answer. Natasha crossed her fingers and headed towards a cooler locale, shouting the missing man's name as she went. A flicker of movement caught the corner of her eye and disappeared into the darkened end of the tunnel. "Evan!"

" _Tasha, we've got a problem. Get over here."_

Natasha hesitated, still itching to creep after the shadow. "I'm just looking for one person. I'll be over in a minute."

" _The roof is about to cave, and we haven't got everyone out yet."_

Natasha stopped. "How much time? Clint, are you alright?"

A moment later Tony cut in. _"Hawk, you said you cleared everyone out of the last two cars! This party's about to bust and there's still people in there."_

" _I did. What are you talking about?"  
_ "What's going on over there?"

" _My scanners are reading eight people in the third and fourth cars. How'd did you miss that many?"_

"Somebody explain—"

" _I swear those cars are empty, Stark. You're scanners are broken."_

"Stop arguing and get everyone out of there!"

For a single moment the comms were completely silent. If Cap at Time Square or Banner back at the tower had tried to contact them in the preceding seconds, they probably would've been drowned out. Tony's voice interrupted the silence. _"Well, kids, this situation has officially hit the fan."_

"Tony, tell me now—"

Natasha was jerked back to her own side of the subway by a jet of flame splashing into her side. Stifling a gasp, she lunged away and rolled to the ground. Another spurt of white-hot fire narrowly missed her head as she scrambled through the debris on the tunnel floor. She backed into the end of the subway car and dodged around the corner. The advancing spray of fire halted and Natasha wasted a few seconds rolling on the ground to put out the sparks dancing on her clothing. She glanced around the corner, mind racing. This was not some accidental explosion—she was nearly a hundred yards away from the fire and the station. Beyond her and the single subway car, there was only darkness, and whoever was throwing fire at her.

Natasha listened for the telltale clink of a weapon or hiss of a flamethrower. When nothing was forthcoming, she crept slowly along the side of the subway car until she came to the open doors. Ever so quietly, she slid one closed, until it pulled at the grappling line she had left there. Finger gently trailing the line, she crept away from the door.

A footstep. It was definitely a footstep. Or was it the fire crackling? Natasha chanced it; she yanked on the line, which pulled on the subway door and sent a metallic squeal echoing through the tunnel. Quickly, Natasha squeezed underneath the end of the car, struggling to fit into the not-meant-for-people gap between the tracks and the train—just in time. As soon as she was hidden, a figure whipped around the corner and jumped into the car. Fire erupted inside a moment later, with the accompanying ruckus. Natasha allowed herself a sigh and looked around for an escape. Instead, she came face to face with the missing fireman.

What was left of him. Clothes charred, skin seared away, recognizable only by the firefighter's helmet, his body was sprawled along the side of the tunnel as if it had been thrown there. Natasha's blood chilled at the thought of the temperature it takes to melt a fireman's equipment. She switched on her comms. "Tony," she whispered. "There's a creep with a flamethrower in my tunnel."

" _A little busy right now, sweetheart. Our tin can took off with the Hawk and half a dozen civilians. Did I mention the heavily armed party crashers on board?"_

"How can a crashed train take off? Half of it is stuck underneath the station."

" _Well, when I catch the party crashers, I'll ask them. Meanwhile you're on your own."_

"Why isn't Clint on the comms? Is he alright?"

" _He's probably too busy shooting bad guys. If he was in trouble he wouldn't tell me; you take a turn babysitting."_

"I told you to watch him, Stark!"

" _I'm trying to stop this train from crashing into something else and killing everyone on board. Try and keep an eye on the big picture, Agent Romanoff."_

Natasha sighed. He was right. Focus. _Focus_. Eliminate the flamethrower first. Catch up with the runaway train after. Natasha tuned out the noise from the fire and listened for the man's footsteps. Was he still in the car?

He was not. Natasha held very still and watched his boots stalk along the side of the car, coming to rest level with her head. Then he spoke.

Agent Romanoff was not frightened easily. She held it as a matter of professional pride that nothing could scare her. She could get angry, worried, nervous maybe, but she absolutely never panicked. At the sound of her attacker's voice, however, Natasha stiffened, gaze locked on the two black boots beside her head.

"Natasha, why are you hiding? Don't you remember the good old days?"

It was a soft, familiar, Russian voice, and it terrified her.

Di was furious. Times Square was merely blocks away, Rue Ave was just across town, and where was she? Stuck at Stark Tower, watching anxiously as smoke and fire erupted out of the two subway stations. She and Dr. Banner had exploited the movable screens in the lab to monitor the news coverage, anything Tony sent them, and the communications network. Cap had told them "to keep an eye on the big picture," i.e. do nothing.

Jarvis watched both the news and the city's databases for more crashes or other disasters, so there was nothing to do there. He handled the comms as well—Di and Banner missed half of them because they were "private links" anyway. It would have relieved Di of a lot of nail biting if only she knew what was going on. Of course, the Avengers didn't have the time to keep her filled in.

Banner steadfastly ignored all of her suggestions to go help; even her most convincing entreaties received only a "No, Diane." When they heard about the attacks, however, Di set to with renewed conviction.

They saw it on the news first. Figures in black, converging on both stations with grenades and other instruments of violence. The authorities put up a good fight, but, as one commentator put it "the money is on the Avengers."

Except that the Avengers, for lack of a better word, were getting trashed. Tony and Cap's reports flew back and forth, more to each other than to let the shut-ins at Stark Tower know what was going on. Snipers and other baddies had trapped Cap, Thor and a horde of civilians and police in the mouth of the burning station, and seemed content to sit where they were and shower their victims with bullets if they so much as peeked outside. At Rue, one of the subway trains had broken free of the wreckage and proceeded to race along the tunnel with Clint inside and Tony following. No one had heard from Natasha.

"Come on," Di began.

Dr. Banner shook his head. "We just had this argument. I still say no."

"Why not?"

"Cap told us to stay here."

"Cap doesn't think we can help."

"Cap is right."

"No, he's not. I can fly. You're practically invincible. If that's not useful—"

"I'm _not_ invincible. The other guy is, and he is not making an appearance today, or ever again if I can help it. You know that, so stop pushing me, Diane."

Di sighed. Arguing with Dr. Banner was not a good idea, especially at the moment, when even normal people were getting worried. She just had to get out there and help, though. Di decided to come at the problem from a different direction. As far as she could tell, the doctor had a huge conscience. Di intended to apply a little pressure there.

"Dr. Banner, do you see what is happening out there?"

Tony Stark could not understand why everyone else in the world was allowed to violate the laws of nature while he wasn't. Take the stupid train, for instance: no visible means of power, half of it missing, and still it was racing underneath New York, trailing a train car that had broken in half pulling itself out of the station. It was going impossibly fast, fast enough that even the Ironman suit was having trouble keeping up. Every time Tony got close, the train would speed up, whip around a corner and leave him behind. It was infuriating; the darn thing was toying with him. What the heck was going on? As the train rounded a corner ahead of him, Tony slowed to a stop. "This is getting old. Jarvis, find me a shortcut."

 _"You recently passed a tunnel intersection. If you take the left side you should intersect with the train's projected route, sir."_

So it _was_ leading him in circles. Lovely. It was a miracle it hadn't hit anything yet. Tony sped back the way he had come and zipped down the left tunnel. "Cap, how's it going up there?"

 _"It's a rock and a hard place. The station's still burning and the enemy is still catching us wherever we stick out our necks. We've tried four different entrances and it's getting harder to move around the station. I think we should try and creep down to the next one through the tunnels. We've got to get these civilians out of here."_

"Not a good plan. My runaway train is playing games; it might head your way and try to squish everyone."

 _"What else do you want us to do? We're running out of elbow room."_

Tony hesitated. He hadn't figured that out yet. Still, it was nice to have Mr. Star Spangled Tights asking him for advice. "Hole up somewhere and try and figure out their angle."

Cap cut the link and Tony focused on the approaching sound of a subway train. He'd outsmarted it, alright. Tony tried for the third time to connect to Clint, and was surprised to get an answer.

 _"Stark, where the heck are you? I've got six civs back here and four guys trying to bust in from the next car. I took out three but there's one missing and it's making me nervous."_

"I stopped for lunch awhile back and now I'm going to head over to the country club for a round of golf. Where do you think I am? I'll be there in a sec."

 _"You heard from Tasha? She won't answer me."_

Tony was glad the spy couldn't see his face. No one had heard from Natasha since she had reported the "creep with the flamethrower." Tony avoided the question. "You still 20/20, Hawkeye?"

There was pause. _"Just get over here."_

Jarvis spoke as soon as Clint cut the link. _"The train is deviating from course, sir. It is slowing down."_

"What?" Tony glanced around at the mini map flashing along the inside of his helmet. The train was indeed slowing, it had almost rolled to a stop. Sensing mischief, Tony sped up—he could see the train now, only a block away.

 _"The train is changing direction."_

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that. Let's not lose it again, Jarvis. Give me some extra power."

This time, the train did not disappear around the corner. Tony was gaining; he was close enough for the suit's infrared to pick up the signatures of a dozen people in the last two cars.

 _"The new route predicts a collision, sir."_

"With what?" Almost there.

 _"The station at Time Square."_

Oh crap. He had to figure out who was driving this thing. Tony was now close enough to consider busting inside to help out Clint, but something else on the scanners caught his attention. A highly concentrated dot of infrared farther up the train—Clint's missing man, perhaps. What was he up to?

"Jarvis, tell Cap we're headed his way. Clint, I've got to figure out how to stop this thing, or we're going to join the mashed potatoes up at the Square. I'm checking out a suspicious character in the front car. Do you mind holding the fort?"

 _"Would it make a difference if I did?"_

"Probably not."

 _"You have two minutes to vaporize the jerk and get back here, Stark."_

"You're very generous." Tony signaled Jarvis to put him up to max speed and he sailed past the front of the train. He turned around and slowed rapidly. A quick energy blast opened an Ironman-sized hole in the end car. The train was approaching rapidly.

 _"Sir, there's been a malfunction—"_

Tony drew in a sharp breath as all the lights winked out and his suit powered down. Not again.

"Thor, we're in position. Are you ready?"

 _"I am fully prepared, Captain Rogers."_

"On three, then. 1—"

 _"On three what?"_

Steve Rogers blinked. Usually he was the one things had to be explained to. Despite the march of progress, however, some things didn't change. Just a simple 1 2 3—but of course, nothing could be assumed with Thor. "It's a human thing. I count; you go—"

 _"—on three. A starting signal—I understand. You may begin counting."_

Steve took a deep breath, nodded at the waiting emergency response team behind him, and wished he could peer around the corner out onto Times Square. "1… 2… 3!"


End file.
